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FOSCARI, 



THE VENETIAN EXILE; 



A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. 



AS PERFORMED AT THE CHARLESTOlf TEEAIRM. 



*' For this Foscari, whose relentless fate 

" Venice should blush to hear the muse relate, 

" When Exile wore his blooming years away, 

" To sorrows long soliliquies a prey, 

«< When reason, justice, vainly urg'cl his cause, 

" For this he rous'd her sanguinary laws : 

'• Glad to return, tho' hope coVild grant no more, 

" And chahis and tortures, hail'd him to the shore." 

Pleasures of Meniorj;, 



BY JOHN B. WHITE, ESQ. 



CH^RLESTOJV: 

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY J. HOFF, NO. 6, 
BROAD-STREET. 



1806. 
[^Entered according to Act of Ccn^ceu-'] 



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PROLOGUE. 



WRITTEN BY A FRIEND, 



AND SPOKEN r,r MJi. sfonr. 

Oft on these boards, as love or rage inspir'd, 
Tlie INIusc of Shakspeare has your bosoms fir'd ; 
And oft the lender scene by Otway drawn, 
Has fiU'd your eyes with sorrows not your own. 
Then while with lib'ral hand you thus reward. 
And crown with Fame full many a foreign bard, 
To night we hope, though humbler be his strain, 
A native Poet v.iil not sue in vain. 

To distant climes his Muse adventrous flies, 
Where Venice points her turrets to the skies ; 
His story simple, natural and brief, 
A tender record of domestic grief; — 
A maid of matchless merit, doom'd to prove 
The heart-felt agony of hopeless love ; — 
A father's peace, by laws too stern undone ; 
A mother, mourning for her exil'd son : — 
That son, defying mis'ry's keenest dart. 
For friends that closely twin'd around his heart i-' 
And falling cheerful in the villain's toil. 
To tread once more his dear-lov'd, native soil. 
On scenes like these, our author rests his cause. 
And trembling, doubts, yet strives for your applause 
Ah ! be not too severe — with gentle hand 
Cherish this scion of your native land : 
To all your care, his offspring he commends, 
Ye gen'rous patrons, countrymen, and friends. 
But chief to you, ye fair, he gently sues, 
For who will dare to blame, if you refuse ? 
Be kind, then — gild your Poet's huml)le name, 
Your smile is vict'ry. your applause is fame I 



DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 



MEN. 



Doge of Venice, - , - Mr. 

Foscari, fSon to the Dog-e, supposed mur- 
derer of Count Almor Doiiato, one of the 
Council of T'en) - - - - 

President of the Council, . - - 
Count Nicholas Erizzo, (A noble Fenetian 

one of the Council of ten J 
Policarpo, - fAn Assassin) 

Gomez, (Thejailor^a comrade of Policarpo) 
Secretary, _ - _ - . 

Officer, ------ 



IVHirLOCK, 



Hardince. 
Claude* 

Sfonr. 
Clark. 
Cromivell, 

SlERSON, 

Dikes. 



Lady Valeria, (Wife to the Doge) Mrs. JVniriocK, 

Lady Alnieria, (Daughter of Count 
Donato, formerly betrothed to Fos- 
cari) - - - - Placide, 

Anna, ? ^^ • , ^ r^- , t i ir r ■ ^ DrKES. 

T f , > Matda oflionor to Lady Valeria. < „, 

Lr-jula, 3 C ^^/-'^.'V-sc'/.t. 

Attendants, Fishermen, £cc. 

SCENE— ?■« Venice. 

See Dr. Moore's View nf Soczetij in Italy — Vd. 1 — Letter It. 



MH 




F O S C A R r, 



THE VENETIAN EXILE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

Ljdt Valekta dtdng in deefi meditation; Jnna near her. 

Plaintive Music from another Ajiartmcnt. The 

Music coJitinues for some time. 

Lady Valeria. 

THOSE plaintive notes my Anna, please no more, 
They yield no longer comfort to my soul ; 
But wrapt in mournful reveries, I sit, 
Instead of soothinp; my afflicted mind, 
They wake my soul to keener sense of woe : — 
This is a moment of too much suspense, 
To listen to this plaintive melody. 

Enter Uxsula, in haste. 

Urs. I Come my lady, to confirm the news ; 
Thy son, indeed, is safely now arrived. 

Fal. Haste ! haste I — Come, tell me all concerains^ 

him : — 
Speak ; arriv'd, say'st thou ! — Landed in Venice ? 

Urs. I saw, myself, the populace press down 
In crowds ; and never since our Lord, the Doge, 
Wedded the Adriatic, have I seen 
Its shores so lined. Anxiety appear'd 
In cv'ry countenance ; and, when 1 sought 
The cause of the confusion, the cry was 
Foscari ! — Count I'oscari ! 

Fa!. Most joyful news ! 
Thou say'st they ran to hail him to the shore I 
A.2. 




Urs. They did, my lady ; Venice seem'd in arms. 
Val. O ! feast a mother's cars! — Come, tell htr all 
That in the least concerns her only son. 
The bark — did'st thou behold the bark ? 

Urs. With sails 
All open totlie breeze, she came ; Venice 
Trembled with acclamations from the shore. 

Val, But still, I will not yield myself to joy :— 
Rest then awhile, thou fond and flutt'ring heart, 
For at such tidings, is a parent's breast 
Too narrow to contain its extacy. — 
My heart will burst ; the contrast is too great 
Between the high-ton'd transport of my soul, 
And that sadness which should reign within me. 

Anna. In truth, my lady, thou hast cause for joy 
For can a mother's heart but feel delight, 
When ev'ry tongue recounts her son's return ? 
;• I Val. Alas! alas! Thou but too little know'st 

j The horrid machinations of tiie world: 

The worm that crawls the earth, can never fall 
', ;'; Beneath the lowly station, which it holds : 

. ■■% It owes its safety to its humble sphere, 

I ' And passes on, neglected and despis'd : — 

, But the imperial bird, is oft the object 

Of the fowler's art, and falls into his snare ; 
The mother's heart, securely sits at ease, 
1^ When on some plain she sees her infant sport ; 

] And all her anxious fears start up alarm'd, 

\i: When she beholds him at some dizzy height, 

^' And no arm near, to snatch him from his doom. 

) Urs. But sure my lady, aid cannot be wanting 

To snatch thy son from that same precipice, 

While so many tongues 

I Val. Indeed, 'tis even so 

• F.acii day's experience will confirm the fact* 

*S^ A thovisand causes may unloose the tongue, 

r And make it speak what 's foreign to the heart j 

While ev'ry sinew of the arm, is crampt, 
By griping av'rice ; vanity, or pride, 
' Selfe-love, or curiosity, will serve 

Each in their turns, to make men sycophants. 




To-day they'll fawn andflatter; to-morrow, 
Make professions of regard and friendship ; 
But the next day, coines a blight of fortune — 
Vrhen straight they all are fitd and disappear'd, 
Like birds of passage, at the winter's blast. 

jinna. Yet, judge not too severely of the world, 
Nor think it alwa) s sway'd by sordid views. 

Vul. Ah! ^^'orcis are light, they cost the givers nothing- 
Men proffer friendship till the trial comes ; 
And when those deeds that might advantage prove 
Are most desir'd, their zeal tlien quickly cools, 
And all their proflfer'd friendship ends in words. 

(Knockir.g vAthout.) 
What knocking 's that ? — O ! should it be my son ! 
Haste thee, Anna ! — Haste ! — Admit him. 

(Exeunt Anna arid Ursula. — Enter Boge.) 
My Lord ! — 

Doge. I come, my love, the bearer of blest news j 
Our son — our lov'd Foscari is arriv'd. 

Val. Then, hast thou seen him ? 

Doge. That bliss is yet to come. 

Val. My heart will burst with joy, tho' o'er th' CA'cnt, 
A cloud ofniyst'ry hangs — I fear to think 
Of what may be the cause of his recal ; 
And tears alone can yield my soul relief. 

Doge. Yet, bow submissive to the will of Heav'n, 
What ever is decreed above, by man, 
With silent resignation should he home. 

Vul. But Heav'n hath bestow'd the privilege 
To weep, and gives us tears to mitigate 
Our grief. 

Dtge. Still, give some respite to thy sorrow : — 
Thou did'stnot rsore than thus indulge thy grief, 
Whilst our unnappy boy dragged out his days, 
In exile. — Now, hast thou not cause for gladness ? 

Val. Yes — I have cause for gladness, it is true j 
But my heart has been so long attun'd to grief, 
It can't throw off its melancholy tone; 
But yet will vibrate with the sound of sadness — 
Most terrible forbodings haunt my mind. 
And still my soul's prophetic eye, beholds 



rt' i *iw-«»r/i»»v* 



F 



& 

My Foscavi, expos'd upon the wheel. 

I hear hirn groan ! — I see Iiim now expire 1 — 

Doge. Trust me, my love, thy fears forebode far worse 
Than possibly can happen — his innocence 
Will yet appear, and still we may be happy. 

Val. Too well I see the horrid plan, that's laid 
Against the life and honor of our son. 
My soul is sad — I know not why, my lord; 
And far more heavy than 'twas wont tobe : 
The horrid visions which disturb my sleep, 
Fill all my waking moments with despair. 

Doge. Yield not thyself to such distressing thoughts ; 
The task of meeting evils as they are, 
Is not more arduous than resisting thoae 
Which owe their rise to fancy. 

Val. 'Tis true, my lord — 
And often those created in the mind, 
Press heavier on the soul, than real ills : — • 
To their uncertainty, they owe their weight. 
My mind, worn down by anxious thoughts and caves. 
Last night, I threw me on my couch and slept ; 
But, while 1 slept: this horrid vision rose, 
ISIcthought I sat upon a lonely cliff. 
Whose rough hewn brow, frown'd dreadful o'er the deep 
And from this height, I overlook'd the main : — 
A heavy cloud, seem'd rising from the north ; 
The Adriatic, which 'till then was calm, 
Now heav'd its bosom, and foretold a storm — 
Vivid lightning flash'd upon the deep, whilst 
The muttering roar of heavy thunder, told 
Of the tempest near — and the sad Curlew 
Join'd Jier discordant note, to make the scene 
!More terrible ! — 

Doge. Alas ! 

Val. Loud howl'd the blast ; 
Darkness seem'd to veil the face of nature. 
And nothing, save the white-capt bijlov/, 
Or the light-wing'd sea bird could be seen, when 
Down upon the wave, it darted for its prey : — 
Metliought I was about to fly, when now, 
A bark, I faint discern'd. I he.ard the sc-.aman's cry; 



^aMHBMMHMIi 



And a sudden impulse drove me to the shore, 

At mercy of the waves I saw the bark 

Now hft on high, now buried in the deep, 

A wave bore up an object to ray view, 

And at the moment when the angry surf 

Had left the beach, I sprang to save the wretch : — 

It was my Foscari I — breathless and cold, 

I dragged him to the shore. 

Doge. O, horrible ! 
But didst thou not awake at this ? 

Val. Not yet — 
For whilst I administer'd soft comfort 
To my reviving son, behold there rose 
A monster from the sea, of form terrific, 
And tore him from my arms — I shriek'd aloud, 
And by the exertions which I made, awoke. 

Doge. Thy dream indeed, seems most portentous :. 
Yet, do not let such fears disturb thy mind — 
Behold, our son is safely now in Venice, 
And soon I trust, we'll clasp him in our arms : 
Altho' some clouds h.ave risen to obscure 
Our bliss, still, now I hope they will disperse, 
And yet our days may close in splendor. 
Enter Sert'ajit. 

Ser. My Lord, Count Erizzo waits without 
And demands in haste a private audience. 

Fa/. Count Erizzo ! 

Ser. Yes — the Count, my Lady. 

Fa/. I would as -willingly a pestilence 
Had come within these walls, as that base man. 

Doge. Return and bid Count Erizzo enter. [Fxu Scr.'] 
Vv hile tygers prowl about the fold, the shepherd 
Should not sleep — what can bring the Count this way! 

Fal. Through all my veins, I feel a death-like chill, 
And the sight of him would petrify me. 
I tremble when I see that horrid man — 
He carries on his brow the badge of vice, 
That narrow cheek, that keen but sunken eye, 
That black complexion, all denote the villain : 
His scowl is dreadful as the winter's blast. 
His hate is deadly O beware the man 1 lEjcii.} 



I 



.-.i F i fM B Mt i wL ii aiJiM WIwaigBI 



10 




Doge. I know too well the hate he bears tow'rds me ; 
His disappointed pride will never rest 
But like to some angry midnight spectre, 
Walk unappeas'd 'till glutted with revenge. 

Enter Erizzo^ nvith a haughty air. 

Eriz. My Lord ! 

Doge. Count Erizzo ! 

Eriz. I bring thee joyous news, 
I come to announce thy son's arrival, 

Doge. Indeed my Lord, I owe thee many thanks, 
But, as the harbinger of such blest news 
Tiiou com'st too late. 

Eriz, Truly, that's my misfortune— 
I hoped to have brought the news myself, 
And to have vvitness'd all a patent's joy. 

Doge. Thou dost me too much honor : too much I feat 
To spring from either merit on my part, 
Or on thine own regard — Proceed my Lord 
Upon thy errand, which must doubtless be 
On most weighty and important business. 

Eriz. I cannot boast, 'tis true, much pow'r in Venice, 
Nor pretend to hold great sway in council ; 
But little as it is, I make thus bold 
To lay it at thy feet, and beg, that thou 
Would use it as thine own, if in behalf 
Of thy most worthy Son, it can avail 
Thee auglit. 

Doge. But — first my Lord, to what account 
Would'st thou this honor done me should be plac'd ? 

Eriz. Place it Count Foscari to our friendship — 
I hope our light political disputes 
Have long e're this been buried in oblivion. 
Once we were competitors in honor's list. 
And when tlie blood of youth ran hot and high 
Oppos'd each otiier with relentless hate ; 
But thirty years have sure subdu'd our zeal, 
Our love for.woildly honor long hasccas'd, 
And now we look more calmly on life's cares. 

D)gc. My iiate was never so implacabie, 
However tix'd thine own. 



--^IBH^^BBHMI 



II 

Eriz. Truly iny Lord, 
The unparallerd i-nisfortuncs of thy son, 
The fall'n hor.or of thy house, the stain that — 

JDogc. Say not the fallen honor of my house, 
For still I trust, unsullied stands ray nume : 
The misfortunes of \ny son, my noble Lord, 
Will ne'er be made to stigmatize my house. 
And tho' his honor may at presi^nt be 
Obscui'd by passing- clouds ofenvy, yet 
Will his innocence, 1 trust dioperse them, 
And leave his name untainted by reproach. 

Eviz. To pass five years in exile, and under 
Imputation, foul as that of murder 
Is a reproach not wip'd away with ease. 

JDoge. Truly my Lord, I ne'er should seek thy aid 
To vindicate my name, tho' blacker than thine own. 

Eriz. So then, my Lord — I've rous'd thy indignation : 
By hell, I'm glad to know thou hast some temper — 
I'vetouch'd thee in a tender point, I find — 

Doge. Hold, hold — thy pride becomes offensive — Count, 
Thou dost forget thyself. 

Eriz. Most bravely said— 
Perhaps Erizzo may still more offend 
When he demands to be inform'd the fate 
Of lady Almeria. 

Doge, Yes, signor — yes — 
Thou shalthear it — to thy shame shalt hear it — 
'Twas no other than thyself who drove her 
From the v/orld — she hopes by close retirement 
To avoid thy gross solicitations. 

Eriz. Perdition seize thee, but thy words are false, 
Base as thy views and narrow as thy heart — 
Thou hast immur'd Almeria for thy son, 
Purposing to prop thy tottering honor 
By family alliance : — But thou shalt soon 
Produce her to the world, or feel my wrath. 

Doge. I disregard and laugh at all thy threat*— 
Thou art thyself more futile than a child. 

Eriz. Count Foscari ! — thou shalt repent that word- 
Look to't my Lord — Look to't. 

Doge. I'm well prepar'd 



■—■v:-.,-x-<i:k 




12 

To bear the brunt of all thy wrath, commence 
Thy warfare when it will — I'm now grown old 
And weak in service of my country — but— 
This arm is able to unsheath a sword 
In preservation of my honor. 

Eriz. Peace — peace — 
Not all thy dignity, nor thy hoar-head 
Shall screen thee from my vengeance. 

Doge, I fear it not — 

Ei-iz. I'll heap still greater cures on thy house, 
And the stain that shall remain upon it, 
Not all thy vaunted greatness shall remove. 

Doge. But for the laws of hospitality, 
My sword this instant should avenge this wrong. 

Eriz. I'm griev'd that such an obstacle should leave 
Thy anger unappeas'd. 

Doge. Indeed my Lord, 
I thought thee, once, possessing what the world 
Call honor — but now, I find thee wanting even 
That poor semblance of a virtue. (Exit disdainfullif.) 

Eriz. Ha ! Ha ! 
I'm glad to find thee rous'd — 'tis what I wish'd. 

I'vegain'd the end I wanted to attain 

Return'd ! — young man. return'd unto thy tomb I 
I must n't rest, else will the truth transpire, 
And then, my hoiior's blasted — to work ! — to work ! 
Alraeria's the reward of all my labor. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — An ajiartment in Count Erizzo's Palace, 
CouNi' solus. 
Crimes but contemplated more fearful seem, 
And fill tbe mind with still far deeper dread, 
Than ever they impart in perpetration. 
One views them through the gloom of superstition, 
And as a timid child who first beholds 
It's shadow on the wall, starts bagk aiarm'd— * 



J 




13 

Then only let them serve to frighten fools I 
They arethe offspring but of feeble minds, 
Which, like the flitting meteors of the night, 
Will vanish if approach 'd and melt in air — 
'Tis now the noon of night, when hell sends forth 
It's ministers, to plot the fall of man. 
But speak 1 — who comes there ? 
Pol. Peace — 'tis Policarpo. 

Enter Policarpo. 
Eriz. I'm glad to see thee — thoucom'st right aptly— 
Draw back that curtain — so — how goes the hour? 
Pol. 'Tis drawing on tow'rds twelve. 
Eriz. Make fast the door — 
Good — give me thy hand — say — art thou dauntless ? 
Pol. What 1— hast thou cause my Lord to doubt my 

faith ? 
Eriz. Who dare suspect the faith of Policarpo ! — 
Yet — still — 

Pol. Yet — still ! dost tkou doubt me ? 
Eriz. Nay, nay — 
Yet there are deeds I'ld say, that sturdiest minds 
Have trembled to perform, nay, e'en to think of. 
Pol. Didst thou e'er know Policarpo tremble ? 
Eriz. Truly — should I say so, I'd do thee wrong — 
Never. 

Pol. Never ! 

Eriz. Never at the cries of 

Pol. Never ! 
I like the cries of men, their groans accord 
Most aptly with my soul, and suit right well 
The tenor of my mind — whene'er I sleep, 
Athwart my mind, in fleeting visions pass, 
The shrouded forms of men, that point reproachful 
At their streaming wounds and shriek aloud despair 1 
Eager I leap to quench my thirsty steel, 
When lo ! I wake, and find it but a dream. 

Eriz. Hold, hold — miscreant, hold ! thou mak'st me 
tremble ! 
Have done with these thy childish phantasies— 
Thou hast been ever faithful to my views, 




14 

So take thy reward — And now to bnsiness.~~ 

(Giving him a Purse.) 
Our projects have succeeded all, as yet, 
To the most ample gratification 
Of our wishes: — yet one more scheme remains 
To make my happiness complete. 

Pol. Well— well- 
Here's my stiletto, still at thy command — 
Observe my lord — 'tis bright and sharp as ever. 

Eriz. Here too is my hand, open to supply 
The wants of Policarpo. 

Pol, Such a hand, 
Can well repay the owner for his steel 
That's worn away in thy long service, Count. 

Eriz. I've tried thee long, and could unto thy faith 
Confide my soul, so scruple not to trust 
Within thy sacred charge, a deep secret 
Which concerns me greatly. 

Pol. Name it my Lord: 
Gold is the key to almost any tongue. (Jside.) 

Eriz. I never have disclos'd to man the cause 
W^hich prompted me to wish Donato's death ; 
But now Policarpo, thou shalt hear it — 
He had a daughter, whose angelic charms, 
Bewitch'd my heart, and set my soul on fire; 
O ! she was fiiir, most beautifully fair! 
And I with ardor, panted to possess her — 
But, mark me now — I humbly sought her hand, 
Which she most scornfully refused to give. 
This was a blow Erizzo scarce could brook — ■ 
I woo'd her at her father's hand — e'en there 
I fail'd — but there, by hell! my pride was touch'd, 
I vow'd revenge — Well thou know'st, my vengeance 
Was most amply satisfi'd, 

Pol. Ay — amply. 
Thy indignation Count, was justly rous'd. 

Eriz. But still the fire of my love increaserl, 
And still the heavenly Almeii:'., seem'd 
The tenfold dearer object of desire— 
I yet persisted to make known my love, 
V/henever opportunity occurr'd; 




fiiiii iniMiKiii^rtw 



But that was soon denied me, and no mort 

Was I admitted to her presence. 
PoL O 1— 

Insolent indeed! — Bnt who prevented thee? 
Eriz. My most inveterate enemy, the Doge. 
PrJ. And canst thou bear thus grossly to be \vronp:'d ? 
Eriz. Nay, hold! Thou shalt avenge mc, even here — 

Dost understand me — I presume? 
PoL Full well : 

Much my stiletto likes Venetian blood! 

But what mere of Almeriu ? 
Eriz. True, tliou shalt learn — 

She bore the shock of her fond father's death. 

With painful, yet becoming fortitude ; 

But when she heard Foscari was impeach'd, 

And sentenc'd, for the murder of the Count, 

To waste his days in hopeless banishment, 

She yielded up herself a prey to grief, 

And now she mourns in some secluded place, 

If credit may be given to the Doge's tale. 

If then we may rely on what is told, 

Let cunning interpose in our behalf, 

And what we cannot gain by suasive means, 

We will accomplish by the strength of nerve. 

Be thou attentive, with a Lynx's eye, 
Explore the haunt of this sequester'd maid. 
PoU Leave her to me — But now of Foscari! 
Eriz. Perish his hopes, or be mine ever blasted! 
The Council 's now conven'd to try his guilt, 
And, e'er the sun shall rise upon to-morrow, 
His fate will be decided — There must thou be 
To attest the truth cf certain facts in point. 
The Council is already well dispos'd 
To punish with severity his crime; 
And that same letter which he wrote the Duke, 
(Doubtless in some unguarded moment penn'd) 
May be constru'd as bearing on its face. 
High treason 'gainst the State: I'll urge it home, 
And if the voice of Count Erizzo 's heard, 
Perpetual banishment, or instant death, 
Must certainly ensue. 




10 

•Pol. The plan seems good — 
In this, we'll both find s-.ifety, thovt, revenue. 

JEriz. But hence — There's not a moment to be lost. 

Pol. Dost thou go straight-ways to the council? 

JEriz. Straiq-ht — 

Pol. I'll be with thee? 

P.rlz. Riglit soon. 

Pol. Shall come disg-uised? 

-Eriz. There's little need of that: — 
Thou art forever well enoigh disguis'd. fyhidc.) 

Pol. 'Tis well my Lord — proceed — I'll follow thee. 

(Exeunt.) 



SCENE !I The Senatc-houfse. 

The Pi esident of the Council of Ten^ and other Coiaisellon 
seated in jiulgincnt. The Hall hung i?i blacky and dimly 
iUundned by a fe"M tapers, yl Prisoner in chains. 
Guards, isfc. 

President. Apply the torture 'till each sinew crack, 
And wring the fatal secret from his lips, 
Unless this instant he confess the erime. 
Thy resolution slave, shall ne'er protect 
Nor save thee from the rigor of the laws- 
Then, once for all, and in the name of Heav'n, 
We do conjure thee to confess thy crime. 

Prisoner. Before a tribunal so corn pt as this, 
I'd scorn to speak, allho' I should escape 
The tortures which await me — Begin then 
Anew, ye miscreants, yeur horrid rites, 
Sphi out my tortures, measure out my life. 
Stretch ev'ry sinew to unnerve the man — 
'Tis all in vain! — Ye shall not hear me groan, 
Altho' ye watch like Vultures over me, 
Until I breutlie my last. 

Is/ Cojin. This is contempt! — (Guards conduct him off.) 
Away with iiim — hence! 

Pres. Conduct him straightway 
To the wheel — Fathers, we must strive to sift 
'ri)js horrid deed, or who, among us all 




17 

Is safe ? — Young Foscari must next be brought, 
Perchance his mind is humbled by misfortune, 
Andsubdu'd by absence from his country 
And his friends — Is Pollcarpo present ? 

Enter guards^ ii'iih Foscari in chains. 
Thou art charg'd before this high tribunal, 
Count Foscari, with gross infringement of the laws 
Of Venice, and for contempt of her decrees. 
When at a former time, in Ileav'n's name 
We did conjure thee to declare thy crime, 
Thou didst persist to plead thy innocence. 
Despising all the tortures of the rack. 

I'os. I do remember Mell, now, five years past, 
I here was charg'd with Count Donato's murder ; 
And here, without the ilighlest colour of a proof, 
(Excepting that my servant named Oliver, 
Ha.ving by some accident, the evening 
Of that sad event, loitered near the palace 
Of the Count) endurd your cruel torcures, 
Receiv'd your merciless sentence, the sentence 
Of perpetual banishement — I call on Heav'n 
Once more to witness, that I am iimocent ! 

Prcs. On Heaven ! — O Viicked blasphemous young 
man ! 
And can'st thou, Count, presum.e to call on Heav'n, 
Seeing that thou bid'st defiance to its laws? 

I'on. Then hear me Heav'n as I hope for mercy, 
Fm innocent of Count Donato's murder ! 

Frcs. Bui now we are not met to try thy guilt, 
As to Count Donato's murder — That fact 
Already stands too well establish'd — then hear 
Thy charge. This letter will explain th' extent 
And magnitude of ihy oifence — be't lead. 

(Giving a letter to the Secuetart.) 
Filter EiiRiZQ and Policarpo, at diJJ'crent doors. 
\st Cozin. Here's Policarpo — let httn first be heard. 
Thou art commanded to declare from whom 
Thou didst receive that letter — come forward. 
7W. I did receive it from Count Foscari, 

With promises of ample recompense 

h 2 




i8 

Pres. Iffhou should convey it unto the Duko 
Of Milan — 

jPo/. That was the stipulation. 

Pres. But thou hast acted as becometh well, 
A good and faithful citizen of Venice. 
Receive then the thanks of all this Council. 

Jiriz. I'll put one question with your leave my Lords— 
Where wert thou Policarpo, at the time 
Thou didst receive that letter ? 

Pol. At the island of Candia, my Lord, 
Where I have been long concern'd in merchandize. 
jEriz, Enough, produce the letter, let it be read. 

(Secretary reads.) 

VO HIS GRACS fHE DUKE OF MILAN. 

Dated at Cania in the Island of Candia, 
Most gracious Prince, 

He who now presumes to address vou, is the only son 
of Count Foscari, Doge of Venice. Ere this, no doubt, the 
tale of my unhappy fate has reached you. Suffer me 
then to implore you, by all that is sacred to exert your in- 
fluence with my country, and to snatch me from a death, 
the most undeserved and cruel. 

I must conclude thus abruptly, yet compassionate the 
most wretched the most miserable cf mankind. 

(Signed,) Foscari. 

Pres. Tiiis is the crime of which thou stand'st accus'd,- 
And 'tis to answer this, that thou art hitlier 
Brought in chains ; for know, 'tis offence young man. 
Most high, for any citizen of Venice, 
To claim protection of a foreign prince. 
It then Count Foscari remains with thee, 
Eithei- that thou confessor do disprove 
Thyself to be. the author of that letter. 

Fos. My mini was never train'd most noble fathers, 
To tread the paths of low device or cunning : 
Bred from my infancy to pant for fame, 
I early learnt to place my views so high, 
As to contemn those little grov'ling arts 
Of mean equivocation and deceit. 
Which men oft use to screen themselves from shame^ 




19 

I will therefore most candidly confess, 

That I did write that letter to the Duke. 

The wretcli in whom I did repose the trust, 

In whom 'twould seem as tho' I did confide 

So far, stampt with the marks of vii.any 

And bearing in his daik and fallen front 

The hideous type of base deprnvity, 

Was studiously selected from the lierd 

To be its bearer to these very siiores. 

I knew full well, that ^''enice, by her laws 

Had made my deed a capital o'fence, 

But as I felt the warmth of iilial love, 

More hi'jhly rise bt;\ ond each other sense, 

I could not dare suppress its sacred tlc'me, 

But in the transport of mv yrief, did write 

The Duke, cravmg his interposition — 

And yet, I wish'd not that he'd favor grant, 

But only hop'd once more to be recall'd: 

I knew the hateful Policarpo well, 

And long foresaw that this would prove th' event. 

Eriz. This is enough — he hath confess'd his guilt, 
And even glories in the unlawful deed. 
He thinks, beneath his filial piety 
To screen himself from justice ; but our laws, 
Thank Heav'n 1 are not thus easily evaded : 
Our province only is to fix the guilt 
Upon the ©flender's head, our country 
Hath prescrib'd the punishment already : 
As well might we attempt to move the spheres, 
As change the laws of Venice. — 'Tis better 
That our laws should be loo harsh constructed, 
Than by their seeming lenity, to lead 
To infamy and crime. 

Fos. O Heav'n avenge me! — 
In vain hereafter wilt thou lift thy voice 
When thou shalt cry for mercy from above; 
For then, no Mediator shalt thou End 
To sue for thee, with an offended God — 
I call on thee, fair nature to disclaim 
This monster as thy offspring — yes — monster—- 
Monster, loo foul for e'en the damning curse 



■MM 



ito 



Of Hcav'n to overwhelm with veng-cancc. 

Fres. Hold I 
What outrage wilt tl-.o\i next presume to make 
Upon a meniber of this hi[.^-h tribunal? 

i^ov. I will have clone, so humbly crave thy pardon — 
The lion would have crush'd the grov'ling worm 
That unprovok'd, dar'd to inflict a stinj^, 
But 'twas too mean an object for his wrath. 

Pns. Thy stubbornness young man, hath long been 
known, 
And mark'd full well by this august tribunal. 
It grieves me to behold thee thus mark'd out 
A melancholy victim to the law, 
Which now condemns thee unto banishment 
Perpetual to the isle ofCandia. 
For one whole year, in close imprisonment 
In solitary darkness to remain ; 
There to reflect upon thy crimes in private, 
And crave forgiveness at the shrine of Heav'n— • 
But beware a second violation 
Of the laws, I warn thee as a father ; 
For shouldst thou still incorrigible prove. 
And dare a second violation make. 
Thou art forever doom'd to linger out 
Thy days within thy prisons darkest cells. 

Fo'i. The torments of the rack I'd bear resign'd, 
I'd even suffer death without a groan. 
But do not force me thus from all 1 love, 
Reverse my fate — 'tis insupportable. 

Pres. The Doge thy father, and his virtuous wife 
Thy mother, shall receive at stated times. 
The senate's passport unto Candia's shores, 
To mitigate the rigor of thy fate. 

Fos. Reverse your judgment fathers, and ward off 
That hateful stain, that v/ill on Venice fall. 

Free. Murmur not young man — it is impossible. 

Fos. Then be your infamy, your own reward: 
For when in aftertimes, your harsh decree- 
Shall pass revisal by more noble minds, 
Venice shall blush to hear your names recall'd, 
And Foscari's shall stand absolv'd from guilt — 




£1 

J'or sure the time will come, when vice must drop 
The mask of virtue she's assnm'cl. and in 
Her own, her liideoiis share, appeur to view. 

Pres. Thy railing youth, but ill hecometh thee— « 
This instant then conduct 1 im to his prison, 
And as the breeze may Tavor his departure. 
Be our decree most rigidlv fiilfill'd. 

/c?. Then may the pettlinp: thunder of despair 
Burst o'er your heads, and leave you naught to hope ! 
So, Avhen the day of retribution comes, 
When earth shall roll before the court of Heav'n, 
You all may know that same despair, which fills 
My soul with anguish. (Exit with guards.) 

Pres, Hence — begone with him ! 
We'll bear no more his pride and insolence ; 
He gives too wanion freedom to his tongue. 
It needs severity to curb it — but 
Hark ! — .who comes this way ? 

Eriz. Ha 1 — 'tis the Doge ! 

Enter Doge and Ladv Valeria, Valeria veiled. 

Doge. Pardon T pray my Lords, this bold intrusion ; 
It is the dictate of a father's warmth, 
And doubtless flows from over anxious zeal 
To vindicate the honor of his child. 
At the bar of this most sacred council 
For mercy I presume, this night to seek ; 
^ly sanguine hopes I trust, will not be blasted 
As I for mercy to my country fly. 
These silvcr'd locks, support my claims upon hep, 
For in her service thy are all I've gain'd. 

Pres. Justice only can our laws dispense, mercy 
We leave for weaker councils to display. 

Doge. Fathers, I come to plead in the behalf, 
Of my innocent, but unhappy son. 

Pres. The fate of thy unhappy son is fix'd, 
Nor could we e'en for justice sake reverse it. 

Valeria throwing off her veil suddenly, 

Val. The fatal senteticeis pronounc'd, and dcatli 
Is the portion of my child i — O mercy 1 
Mercy fathers I — for the sake of Heav'n, 




1^ 

Spare me ! — let me not hear the dread decree. 
In secret let the fatal blo.v be giv'n ! 

P res. Most noble Lady, pray you be compos'd, 
Much we reg'retthe sentence u'c decree. 

Val. Then let me not hear it ! — 'lis death — 'tis death !— ' 
Here, on my knees, I throw myself before you, 
I crave your pity in tb;; nanie of Heav'n ' 

listen to the supplicalin,^ cries 

Of a distracted mother 1 — Cehold her 
At this sacred shrine, imploring- mercy, 
Mercy, as ye hope for mercy of your Ciod !— 

1 call on Count Ooaato's shade — invoke 
The long departed spirit of the dead, 
Bid it stalk forth in horrible array, 

To vindicate the honor of my child ! 
Yes — let the guilty tremble, for heaven 
Will avenge this wrong. 

ILriz. Pardon, my lady ! — 
But such language suits not this tribunal. 

VaU Perhaps it suits not Count Erizzo's temper ; 
But should the dead arise, thou nead'st not tremble : 
The finger surely would not point at thee ! 

Erlz. What ! — Would'st thou cast on me such foul 
reproach ? 

Val. Nay, nay, my lord ; thou dost reproach thyself: 
The cleanliest hand doth oft'ner wear the glove, 
And where base men, no bold accusers find, 
Their own suspicions oft betray themselves. 

Pres. Lady, no more ; the laws must be fulfill'd— 
Then all thy supplications are in vain. 

Val. I bow with due submission, to the laws ; 
So, be it as thou say'st — I'm silent ! 

Dngc. But, shull we not behold our son once more ; 
E're he be taked from our sight forev'r ? 

P^es. Within his prison's cell, he rests, until 
A favoring gale shall waft him from our shores. 

■^oge. Then grant I intreat my lord, those few short 
hours, 
In tender converse with our child, until 
The moment shall arrive, when we must part. 

Pres, This, thy petitiouj Doge, is granted thee,, 






In recollec'ion of thy high respect : 
But remember this, the stipulation? 
We look to thee for liis safe custody :— 
Thy life must answer for his prompt return- 
Remember ! 
Doge. Be it so, my lord.— Come — come. — 

(Exeunt DoGR and VAtr.liJA.j 

( Enizzo casts a tnaligncnt eye ^ipon them as they pass* J 

Eriz. But, now let Policarpo be rewarded 
For his important service to the State ; 
Doubtless he lodged the information here. 

Pot. I thrust the letter in the lion's mouth 
With my own hands ; and lest there should be doubt 
That I Inform'd the council, I was careful 
To retain this certain proof. — Compare it 
With the letter. 

(Policarpo takes ascrap. of pa/ierfrmn an old Jioucb^and 
tiresentu it to the SECREfARr.) 

Secretary. It coincides my lord, 
And fits right aptly with the sheat. 

Pres. 'Tis well — 
Then from the coffers of the State, reward 
Him as his services deserve. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I 4 Prison. 

Fqscari alone. 

A dread and deathlike silence, oft foretels 
The approach of distant storms, and nature, ere 
She's shook by her convulsive throes, 
Doth veil herself in clouds.— 
O, what an awful moment of suspence 
Is that which separates us from our bliss V—t 
\^'ilh firmness we resist the ruder si.rcks, 
Which harass and perplex the life of man 




24 

And our fortitude forsakes us only 

When, those misfortunes vvhit'i we dread to "meet, 

Are just about to vaiiish. — But, alas ! 

C:»n the mere thought of meeting; whom we love, 

Distract the senses and unnerve the soul ? — 

Yes ; my adorable Almeria ; yes — 

At thought of thee- my blood more quickly ebbs, 

And fiows — But hold ! Almeria did I say ? 

Almeria hath forgot this heart still beats, 

And long ere this, her smiles have been bestow'd 

Upon some object, whodeserves them more 

Than e'er the persecuted Foscari ! — 

But harlc ! — My father's footsteps ! — Assist me 

Keav'n to suppo t this conflict of delight ! 

(Enter Officer, accomfianied by Gomez. ^ 
Where is my father ? — Let me behold ray father ! 

Officer. Signor, prepare thyself for his approach-— 
His frame can ill support the interview, 
Unless thou meet him with a manly air, 
And with becoming fortitude, 

Foscari. Cease — cease-— 
Nor speak to me I pray, of fortitude.— 
As well might'st thou apply the lighted match, 
And bid the sulphurious mine burn tamely. 

Officer. Let me conjure thee, by thy filial love, 
Restrain thv feelings ere thou ineet the Doge. 

Fos. Do not thus tamper with me, but let me 
Behold my father. (Attempting to leave the Prison.) 

Gomez at the Door. 

Sii^nor, stand back there. 
F^s. Give way — nor dare resist me, villain. 
Gom. Thou must not pass without these walls, my lord. 

(Laying hold of him.) 
Fos. Perdition seize thee ! unhand me ruffian, 
Unhand me, or I'll teur thee limb from limb ! 

( Breaking from him^but starting back suddenly) 
O ! my father ! 

Doge ivithout. 
Can this weak frarr^e then bear me to my son, 
Once more before these eyes are clos'd forever? 




25 

E7:ier Doge. 
Do I behold my long lost son, again ? 
Tlie only prop of my declining age ! 

As. 6, let me cling about thee I — Let me kiss 
Those aged feet that bear thee to thy son. 

(Embracing hh father.) 
Doge. This is too much for nature to support I 
►• Thou hast unman'd me ! — 
Fos, My dearest father, 
Do I then hold thee in these arms once more ? 
Do my lips press again thy aged cheek ? 
Do I hear again that dear, that tender voice ? 
O ! speak, my Father, — Speak to me ! 

Doge. Isly son, 
My soul is faint and overcome with grief;— 
What can I say of comfort to my child ? 

Fos. Do I behold those eyes o'edlow with tears, 
And find, unmov'd, no moisture from my own ? 
Alas ! the tears that once could overflow, 
And gush like fountains from these eyes, are no'>7 
Grown dry, and cease to spring at sorrow's call. 

Doge. Thou wilt have greater need my son, for tears, 
When thy fond mother's arms are open wide 
To clasp thee to her bosom : For trust me 
She looks with tenfold greater anxiousness 
Tow'rds the approach of that blest moment, 
Than e'er she did, ton'ards thy natal day. 

Fos. Then bear m.e to heron the wings of speed, 
Let my light steps not touch tine earth 
Until I throw me at my parent's feet ! 

Doge. But, still my son, thou must with caution meet 
Thy mother. Her gentle nature cannot 
Support too great extreme of joy or grief. 
Then, sum up all thy fortitude, call up 
Whate'erthou hast of man, within thy soul, 
Prepare it to support the sharpest pangs 
That e'er thy nature suffer'd. 

Fos. My mother! 
Ah ! — sure thy gentle nature can ill stipport 
Itself amidst the horrors of this cell ! 

c 




j 26 

; Dos^c. I hare obtain'd permission of the council, 

So thon wilt be conducted to our palace, 
Myscifthe pledge of thy safe custody. 

I'^os. And there to behold my lov'd Almeria ? 
?-Ty anxious soul's devour'd with suspence — 
O; v> liat are not my bodings ! — Look not thus, 
Upon me, but loose me from the rack, say, 
1 beseech thee speak — Alnicria — ;!oth she live? 

Duge. Do not alarm thyself, but be resign'd. 

Fos. Distraction ! then nothing have I to hope ! 

Doge. Fear not for thy Almeria lives. 

Foa. Thank Heav'n 1 
Blest be those lips that spake those words! 

Doge. Ah! — yes — 
She lives, but in a lone retreat, she pines 
Away her days, and far from ev'ry eye , 
Pours out her grief in private. 

Fos. Then tell me, 
' Where shall I find her ? — where shall I seek 

Her solitary seat, to vent anew 
My rapturous vows, and still confess myself 
Her slave. For tho' these ignominious chains 
Disgrace thy son, soon shall he stand, 1 trust, 
Absolv'd from crime, and worthy of Almeria — 
Yet explain this mystery I pray thee, 
Wherefore doth she shut herself from all the world r 
Why not within the bosom of her friends 
Look for that comfort v/hich the world denies? 
; Djge. Thou soon shah !)e inform'd — Count Erizzo 

Is tiiy most deadly enemy ! 
For the present, ask no further of me. 

Fos. 1 know too well, he owes me deadly hate. 

Doge. And therefore, he persccuies Almeria. 

Fos. Base and malignant fiend ! where shall she hid? 
From t;.y infernal arts I — what dark recess 
^ Will not thy cunning pierce ! — O, were I free, 

Free from these bonds^ which so disgrace ray name, 
This instant would I fly to comfort her, 
And clasping her within my arms, defy 
His malice, and laugh to scorn his power. 

^ogc. Butconie, thy mother with impatience waits 




27 

Thy presence — let 's lose no time in meeting herj 
Whate'er appears mysterious to thee now, 
Shall be unfolded in due time. 

Fos. Lead on, 
My father— I will follow thee. (Gains.) 

Gomez, (at the door.) Stand back 
My Lord, thy son cannot pass out with thee ; 
He 's a state prisoner, and cannot go, 
AVithout the permission of the council. 

Doge. I have permission of the council friend, 
Or hence, should not attempt to lead my son. 

Gom. Produce it. 

Fos. Villain! dost thou doubt the word? 

Doge. Iloid 1 — The man doth well— read ihou this paper, 
(Giving a /uiper to Gomez.) 
lie understands his duty — 'tis his part 
To doubt. ^Exeunt. 

(J fmitse.) 

Gom. So — so — 'tis well — pass on — pass on. 
'Tis good Foscari — you've escap'd me now: 
But curse me, if ever I forget thee! 
Thy lordly-spirit ill befits a prisoner, 
And suits still less, one of thy bloody stamp. 
Rash boy ! revenge most surely shall o'ertake thee, 
In deadliest shape my passion can contrive 1 
For yet I trust, I'll have thee in my power — 
I'll ransack ev'ry corner of my brain 
But I'll effect thy ruin — Thou wilt not be 
The only one, who 's fallt:n by my hand — 
Revenge like mine, will sure be sweet indeed, 
E'en Hell shall envy my inventive mind! 
But who comes this way, to disturb my thoughts! 
Enter Policarpo, 

Pol. Ha ! Gomez, thy hand — how fares it with thee ? 

Gom. Badly enough, badly enough my friend. 

Fol. Why, what 's the matter? Has the world grown 
honest, 
And thou in fear of starving for employ ? 

Go7n. I'll turn confessor when that time shall come, 
And teach the world its vilhny again. 
But enough — I've no time for prating:— 




28 

When boys assume the airs of men, 'tis time 
For men to put on swaddling bands — attend, 
What passage didst thou enter ajt just now? 

Pol. I enter'd at the gate that fronts the north. 

Gom. Did no one pass the arch-Avay as thou enter'dst? 

Pol. Count Foscari, and the Doge his father past: 
I hid me in a nitch 'till they went by. 
But, how goes he unattended by a guard? 
State prisoners are not wont to go at large. 

Gom. Thou se'st how 'tis my friend: more honest men, 
For instance, e'en thyself or me, might here 
Lie down and rot, but, nobk men, forsooth 
Are any time entitled to court favors— 
1 hate to think on 't, my blood boils within me. 

Pol. This comes of birth distinctions in a state, 
And so — 

Gom. And so, by Hell! — I'll be reveng'd: 
A blow from e'en a lord, sits not more light, 
Than one from e'en the meanest peasa-nt hind. 

Pol. Ab\o\\\ — how now my friend? what dost thou mean? 

Gom. Wliy, to be brief, I've justreceiv'd a blow 
From that rude fellow who past out just now. 

Pol. Indeed! — From Count Foscari I presume — 
I know him. w ell, I know liis hasty spirit. 

Gont. The same— but I'm resolv'd to find revenge. 

Pel. Revenge! trust me my friend, it is a jewel, 
"Wiiich seldom is attain'd, unless dug up 
With golden spades: poor men should rest content 
To use the spade in service of thq rich : 
The willing hand may seldom need employ. 

Gom. I understand thee Policarpc — Well, 
Inlibt me then, and I'll dig up the mine ; 
I'll turn up e'en the very hugest mound, 
To find this precious gem: I'll labor hard. 
Although it should adorn another's brow : 
This once I'll find it, should I lose my soul ! 

Pel. Give me thy hand — thou art the very man; 
Thou shalt have revenge to thy heart's content. 

Gom. Then thou canst lead to the desired end? 

Pol. Direct as e'er thy dagger to a hear^ — (A groan.) 
But hark I 




29 

Gom. What? 

Pol. Hear'dst thou not a groan just now ? 
It cume methought from the adjoining dungeon. 

Gv7ti. True, true, 'twas the groan of one Oliver, 
A former footman of this haughty Count ; 
He 's here condemn'd to Hnger out his life: 
A proof more certain tlian mere vague suspicion, 
Would have condemn'd him, and his master too 
To instant and to public death — But cease, 
We 're overheard — There 's some one at our heels: 
We will have more of this, next lime we meet. 
Pol. Ha! — 'tis the very man I wisii'd to find, 
'Tis Count Erizzo — withdraw — withdraw. 
Anon I'll meet thee — then we'll further speak 
Upon this subject, and arrange our plans. 

Gofji. Ay — be it so — thou shalt find me within. 

l^Jixit Gomez, as Rrizzo enters at another door, 
Eriz. I heard a voice — w ho was 't speaking with thee ? 
Pol. A most faithful and deserving fellow, 
Gomez by name, — a man after my own heart. 

Eriz. I'm glad to hear thou hast a fellow : 
I had some fears, lest thou should stand uncqual'd. 
Pol. But listen — I have news will fit thine ear. 
Eriz. Is 't of Almeria? I 'm ail attention. 
Pol. 'Tis new s that leads that waj' — let me be brief. 
On coming here, I found my worthy friend, 
Black as thunder cloud, when fully cliarg'd 
To vent its fury on the earth. I found 
High indignation rankling in his breast; 
I strove to make his discontent more fierce. 
So seem'd myself more happy than I am : 
I knew 't would gall him sore, and spur him on 
To perpetrate the deadliest deed on earth. 

Eriz. But, wherefore was his anger rais'd so high? 
Pol. I had no time to learn particulars, 
For thy approach allarm'd us. 
Eriz. Unfortunate ! 

Pol. But, I 've enough to answer our cndi. 
His indignation was 'gainst Foscari — 
And he 's resolv'd to be reveng'd. 
Enz, The means? 

c 2 




3« 

Pol. He ne'er shall want the means, believe me Count, 
It rests with me. His lecture has been heard — 
Thou may'st imagine the reward thyself, 
A man of honor pays, when he receives 
A Blow. (ironically.) 

Eriz. So so — now 1 understand thee — 
Then Policarpo, look to it thyself: 
We are bad fowlers if the bird escape, 
When so many snares are laid. 

Pol. True my Lord! 
But I've lirn'd many old birds in my time, 
So need not fear the cunning of the young. 

Eriz. But hast thou of Almeria, yet no news? 
Thou said'st just now thy story led that way. 

Pol. Meet me at Saint Marks at four— come disguised: 
But do not leave thy rapier at home. 

Fyiz. What now? — and will there be need of rapiers? 
Pol. Nay — I hope not I 
Eriz. Disguised I — and armed! thou say'st? 
Pol. Ay — ^just so. 

Fyriz. But wherefore ? — first inform me. 
Pel. I 've business on my hands — ask me no more. 
I must obtain a trusty friejid — Gomez, 
In this affair, shall answer as our tool — 
Meet me at four — Almeria 's thy reward. 
Re.iiembcr! \_Exit, 

Eriz. (afterafiause.) See where the ruffian skulks along. 
And mark how eagerly he pants for blood! 
I 've listen'd ofttimes to the hungry wolf, 
Yvlien ncigiiborinjj caves have answer'd to her cries, 
And echoing woods relurn'd the lengthen'd yell; 
Stiii, her sad howl ne'er seem'd so terrible, 
As the detested voice of that fell villain: 
Yet, he doth well befit my purpose, and suits 
The work, I hold thus dearly to my soul. 
'Tis galling to be sure to hug this fiend so close, 
Yet the moment is Ihope arriving, 
When I may cast this hateful burden off. 
And free myself from such degrading bondage- 
Yes — I will meet thee Policarpo — Ay — 
'Though Hell should ya^yn, and stare me in the face! 




31 

"But, when the work is done — then look to It — 
We then, will settle our accounts in full. 



(Exit.) 



ACT IV. 

SCENE l—Boiver, 
Enter Erizzo and Eolicabpo, disguised. 

Pol, This is the place — tread lightly. 

Eriz. Art thou sure ? 

EoL I know it well. 

Eriz. But 'tis an ill tim'd hour 
O' the morning to meet her in her walks. 

FoL No, not at all — she's what they call roraantic. 
Soft — soft — come this way — didst thou hear nothing ? 

E7-IZ. Nothing. 
It was nothing but my rapier that fell. — 
AVhere's Gomez ? 

Pol. He waits without, with a Gondola. 

Eriz. Let's lurk beneath the gloom of yonder elms: 
There 'tis dark enough for any deed. 

Eol. Soft I — Tread light my lord, lest we be over- 
heard. ( Exeioit.) 
Enter Foscari. 

Eos. Why wilt thou, memory, distract my brain, 
And sting me with the curse of what I am, 
By thus reminding mc of what I was I — 
Tull six long years have past, since 'neath these shades 
Almeria listen'd to my tale of love. 
I do remember the blest evening well: 
Wc stroU'd together from our youthful friends, 
And this appear'd the choice, propitious spot, 
Which tempted me to open all my soul : — 
Amid tiiese groves, we oft have sat and read, 
And often have I seen her cheek bedew'd 
With tears, as her soft eyes have past the page 
Of e'en fictitious woe. — Shall that cheek then 
Which glow'd with sympathy ut stranger's ills. 




3« 

Which flow'd with tears at artificial woe, 

Be only dry, when it should stream for me ? 

But hush — some foot treads light among the leaves ; 

Sure 'tis Almeria ! — No, I am deceiv'd ; 

'Tis nothing but ihe breeze which gently stirs 

The branches. — See — here her fair hand hath grav'd 

Th' initials of her name ; and here, behold, 

Is carv'd at length, the name of her Foscari ! 

(He seems deeply engaged in fiondei ing ufion the name which 
is carved ufion the tree^ while Almeria enters slowly^ look- 
i?ig at a Miniature.) 

Aim. Ah ! what benignity, what tenderness 
Are seated on this brow ! — What melting eyes ! 
What sweet, expressive lips ! — The artist's mind 
Might here have dwelt, as on consummate good ! 
What unity pervades the whole ! — How mild 1 
Yet, how resistless ! — Altho' on his tongue 
Persuasion dwelt, a noble dignity 
Made conquest sure ! — A smile like morning's blush) 
Glad'ning the heart, and bidding sorrow fly ! 
Can features mild as these depict a base 
Degen'rate villain ? No, 'tis impossible I — 
Yet, hath not Venice stampt him with the crime? 
Doth he not now, in some far foreign land 
Atone to Heav'n for the bloody deed ? 
Yet, tho' true, alas ! this valu'd relict. 
Still pleads in his behalf, and bids me hope 
That Foscari may yet be innocent ! — 
O ! could I but behold that face again 1 
But press unto my soul ! — Ha — a stranger ! 

Fos. By Heav'n, 'tis she ! It is Almeria ! 

( Coming forward. J 

Aim. Yes — that voice seems right familiar to me ; 
But thy features are unknown. 

Fos. Then, lady — 
Have five short years so greatly chang'd them ? 

Aim. Thy voice reminds me of a friend, the dearest 
That this heart ever knew. — O, speak I whence art thou? 
What is thy errand ? 

Fos, O i this is too much I 




33 

Jilm. T beseech thee, spef.k ! 

Fos. My errenclis with thee, 
Lady Ahneria Dost then not know me '? 

Aim. It cannot be — surely my eyes deceive me ! 
First llien let me ponder ou ihy countenance. — 
Gracious lieav'n 1 it is my Foscari ! 

( Thvotving herself into Jus arms, J 

FoscARj Icoking eagerly at the Miniature. 

Fos. Ha!— 
What do I behold ? that same miniature, 
Which, as the pledge of my eternal love, 
I gave her. — Thanks to Heav'n, she loves me still ! 

Jhn. Isn't this the dream of a disttmper'd mind ? 

Fos. O, no — 'tis no dream — 'tis all I'eahty j 
'Tis thy Foscari who supports thee — 
The same Foscari, who beneath thy fond, 
Paternal roof, thou blessed'st with thy love, 
A dream — no, 'tis all reality. 

Jim. Hold- 
Loose, loose me from thy serpent folds — stand off*. 

(Breaking from his arms. J 

Fos. And is this the language of Almeria ? 

Jim. Avaunt! avaunt! thou parricide ! 

Fos. O 1 Almeria, 
Spare me but that pang, I do conjure thee, 
For the love of mercy ! — 

yli'm. This instant leave me ! 
If ever thou didst love Almeria — leave her. 

For. Behold me, Almeria, prostrate at thy feet ! 
Let me implore thee, by all that's sacred, 
Hear me. 

Jim. My father heard thee, wretch ! and perish'd. 

Fos. Can the sweet lips of the ador'd Almeria, 
Speak such daggers to my soul ? 

^Ilm. Insolent ! 
Degen'rate ! unparrall'd assassin ! 
It sure cannot be criminal, to speak 
What thou couldst use against my father's life I 

Fos. By Heav'n, Almeria, I am innocent j 
By all that's sacred, thou dost wrong me. 




34 

I swear, by thy lov'd self, I'm innocent ! 

-^Im. Thou art a blight, that witherest all before thee i 
Thou art nature's master-work of villany. 

jFos. Be not more ri[j;id than the laws ; be just. 
And Oh ! be merciful ! — First hear me speak. 

^ihn What ! — Shall I hear thee plead thy innocence, 
When thine own country hath announc'd thy guilt ? 

Fos. O, name it not ! my soul sickens at the sound. 
No — I can no longer bear the horiid 
Imputation of a murderer — no, 
Almeria, sooner than I would have shed 
Thy father's blood, sooner than have wrung thy heart 
By such a deed, I would have thrust this arm 
Into the blaze, nor mov'd, nor groan'd, until 
The very marrow were consum'd to ashes. 

.dlnit This satisfies me only of thy art — • 
Believe me, Foscari, I still must doubt, 
Altho' my heart pleads loud in thy behalf. 

Fosi. Whenever justice can maintain a doubtj 
Let mercy interpose her voice. 

Mm.. I pity thee ! 
Yes — from my very soul, I pity thee t 
That pity makes me wish thou wert not guilty. 

Fos. Yet, yet remember, how from infancy, 
With fond, fraternal tenderness, I lov'd thee :— 
Ever hast thou been the mistress of my soul, 
And kept the dearest secrets of my heart- 
Then, my Almeria, I conjure thee say. 
Didst thou e'er know me sway'dby cruelty, 
Or practising those arts of treachery, 
Which mark with subtle line the villain's trait ? 
Didst thou e'er know me condescend to deeds, 
That the least could blacken or disgrace my name ? 
Or hast thou yet perceiv'd that in this breast, 
Feelings of malice or revenge e'er rankled, 
That now thou should'st thus easily believe 
Each deadly crime concentrated in me ? 
O ! thou sure could'st ne'er have lov'd — by Heav'n, no I 
Else thou could'st not such easy credence yield, 
To calumny so foul, so base, against 
My honor ? 




35 

Mm, Not to believe thee guilty, 
Were in this, to participate thy guilt. 

Fos. O give me thy hand ! I will not let thee go 
Until thou shall pronounce me innocent. 

Aim. Once I beheld tliee as the noble Foscari, 
The honor and the glory of thy house : 
But alas I ho'v is thy nature fallen ! 
Do notcontamniate me by thy touch, 
Thy hands still reekina: with my father's blood ! 
Thou wilt beguile my soul — begone — hei^one ! 
Thou wilt di^file me, making me more black 
Than e'en thou art — () thou wilt drive me mad ! 

Fos. Already hath thy cruelly, far more 
Than driv'n me mad — I rave! — my brain. will burst. 
Behold ! I lie before Miee like a worm, 
Tratriple me — destroy me — crush me into dust — 
But do not— do not thus insult my woes ! 

Abyu Could'stthou then e'er believe my heart so base, 
As to insult thy woes ? — Almeriu's soul 
Disdains so mean a triumph. 
I once lov'd thee — in my soul 1 lov'd thee, 
Btit, alas !---! little dreamt I cherish'd 
In my breast, the most invenom'd viper! 

Fos. Ungenerous ! unfeeling Almeria ! 
Thou may'st be satisfi'd perhaps too late, 
That I am innocent. 

Aim. Impossible ! 
Too much I fear it is impossible ! 

Fos. O, could I open unto thee my heart, 
Pissect each little nerve, and lay my soul 
As on a map before thee, x\lmeria 
Then would see, how grossly she doth wrong mCf 
She'd see, that sooner than inflict one pang 
Upon that gentle heart, I would endure 
Forever, all the tortures of the damn'd ! 

Aim. Thou know'st the way unto my soul too wellj 
Thou hast wound my feelings up lo phrensy : 
Tlie hand of n;adness hatii already sciz'U me : 
O I'oscari I — vvhithcr wouid'st thou lead me ? 

Fos. I'd lead thee to be merciful 1 

Aim, Alas ! 






36 



If thou could teach that virtue— thou would'st leave me. 
(A pause.) 
Fos. Then la;ly-— farewell ! — eternally farewell ! 

Remember thdt the friendless Foscari 

Now takes uis kcive forever ! — yes AI'Tieria 

Thou shait remember n)e wiien 'tis too iate. 

With much dang'er I've obtain'd this interview, 

Only to bless these eyes with sfg-htof ihee, 

Before i hade thee an adi.:u forever — 

So now, I take my leave — remember me ! 

When in a foreign land, ou'.cast from love, 

From friendship and from thee, in wretchedness, 

I shrink within my miserable cell, 

When death's cold hand shall settle on this brow, 

And these pale lips, that now implore thy mercy. 

In death, forever, shall be clos'd and cold. 

Then shalt thou wish, that thou could stretch thy hand 

To soothe the agonies of Foscari. 

Aim. Mercy ! — have mercy on me Foscari, 

I can hear no more — O let me fly thee ! \_Rxit. 

(A pause.) 
Fos. Then indeed hath fortune done her worst ! 
I now grow frantic by her cruel stings ! 

'Till this, I thought I could defy her shafts. 
But now she proves the victor over me. 
Almeria hath suppli'd the dart, that thus 
Undoes me — O happy shores of Candia ! 
Ye knov/ not such barbarians as Almeria ! 
Then unto you will Foscari return, 
And in thy hospitablp wiids, will breathe 
Plis last, f Shriekn ndiliout.) 
But hark ! — it is Alrneria's voice. 

Enter Almeria^ pursued, 

Alvi. Help I help ! — save me ! 
Fos. Yes — at the risk of life — 
Here — take refuge here, and I'll protect thee. 

Enter Policarpo and Enizzo in piirsuit of Al^ieria, 

Pol. By hell, she shan't escape — seize her, 
Fos: Standoff! 




If thou approach one step, that step's thy last. 

Eriz. Villain. 
Stand back — or I'll crush thee into atoms 1 

Fos. Infamous assassin I — base born coward 
Begone. 

Eriz. Tear her from his arms this instant, 
Dost thou dare resist me I 

Erizzo makes a blow at Eoscasi, with his rapievy but the 
latter arrests his arm, they struggle. 

Pol. This to thy heart ! (Stabs Erizzo through accident.) 
Eriz. O hell and distraction blast the villain ! 
Desist base miscreant ! for thou hast slain me. 

Erizzo strikes furiously at Policarpo. Thcyjight, 

Fos. Now Almeria, let us fly this instant, 
Tliis — this is our moment for escape. Exeunt. 

Eriz. Wretch, wretch ! thou hast slain me ! 
Pol. It was not meant 
For thee my lord, but for the breast of him 
Who struggled with thee. 

Eriz. Perdition seize thee ! 
I'll tear thy heart out — mine flows from ray wound. 
O Policarpo ! I die — lead me hence. 

Pel. What ! lead thee hence to tell thy death bed tales ? 
But fli-st, take that, and that (5,'a(!)s him.) Policarpo 
Is too wise for such a snare ! 

Erizzo falls, exit Policarpo. 
Eriz. O, I am slain ! 
Murder, murcter ! in the the name of Heav'n help ! 
Filter several Fishermen. 
\st Fish. This way, this way — the cries came from this 

way. 
Eriz. Hither, hither! lend me your help- — I'm dying'. 
2d Fiih. See, by the mass ! here's blood. Speak, who 

are you ? 
Eriz. I am Count Erizzo. 
3(1 Fish. But whai's your misfortune ? 
Good saints! the poor gentleman is dying I 

Eriz. I've not a moment's life to spare, so first 
Pursue the villain who hath done this deed : 

o 




38 

lie lurks beneath the covcit of the wood, 

{Several Fishermen are dispatched in fmrhuit ofPoLKARPO.) 

The blood fast {pushes from my wounds, and now 

My only wish is to behold the Doge, 

This instant fly — fly ere it be too late : 

Tell him, I have n\uch to inform him of liis son, 

Tell him I will point out the horrid wrctcli 

Who murder'd Count Donato--haste thee then, 

For 1 have a secret of high import 

To communicate: ( Exit first Fisherman.) 

3d Ii<;h. Haste thee Pedro — haste— 

icr/r. Hell opens wide its jaws to swallow me ! 

2rf Fish. Let's take him to our liut. 

Fi'iz. Pray lead me hence ! 
You must support me — I'm too weak to Avalk. 
Take me in your arms — soft — ye tear my vitals. 

(Thtij asaist him to rise.) 
Distraction ! — O gently ! — gently \ 

3d Fish. Look, look 1 
They have the viUain — see there, how they drag 
Him along the by-path, tow'rds our cabin, 
There, there — don't you see them antidst the gloom. 

2d Fish. And now just mark, what resistance he makes I 
See, see — there's some one to his assistance. 

3d Fis/irr. Now they overpow'r and lead him off. 

£riz. Gently, gently— lead me on ere 1 die — - 
Then they have the villain, and lead him hence? 
Say'd you not so ? 

3d Fish. We did — they have them bound. 

F7-IZ, Then will the pangs of death lose half their sting. 
O, could I but see him writhe in agony, 
But witness his despairing shrieks and groans. 
Then 1 — O tlicn ! f Faints in their arms.) 

2d Fish. Good saints protect us ! 

3d Fish. He faints, 
Haste — let's take him hence ! the poor gentleman 
I fear is dead — haste — haste ! C^^'*?!/ ^^(^i' liini off.) 




ACT V. 



SCENE. 

^n cjiartment in th; Doge's palace.) Foscari Icaiilitg on hh 
fathei 's bosom, 

/o5. Unhappy misei'ablc Foscari ! 

Doge. Thy innocence will yet buize forth my sen, 
And add a tenfuld lustre to tliy name : 
The dawn that's overcast, doth oftentimes 
Precede the most resplendent noon, and oft 
We see the sun, bright i^litter in the East, 
Rejoicing as 'twere in youthful splendor, 
But ere 'tis noon, his brig!»tness is o'ercast, 
Or, ere he sinks into the western world, 
Is wrapt in thick, impenetrable ri,loom» 

Fo&, I am a wretch indeed, mark'd out by fate. 
The sport, the jest of her maligi^ant stings. 

-Doge. Assume a Spartan pride, and if there flow 
One drop of noble blood withiii thy veins, 
Evince thy<jelf deserving of thy name. 

Fos. Lead me to the cannon's mouth, let dangcf 
Meet me front to front, let the voice of \\v.v 
Pvoclttim wi'h fearful blast th' approach of death, 
I>aunt!ess I'd meet the danger of the field, 
And ward dishonor from Fuscari's name : 
But my impetuous soul, cannot support 
Protected woe — it shrinks with horror back, 
As man recoils from the ftU serpent's sting. 

Doge. Vain glory prompts the hero to the field i 
Boldly he leads his thousands on the sword. 
And wades through blood, to find an empty name ', 
He fights to gain the v. onder of a crowd. 
And swells with inward rapti.re attlieir shouts: 
But he who bears the private ills of life. 
With christian dignity and honest ptide, 
Insures the admiration of the good — 
By thy duty then I do conjure thee, 
lundure thy fate with manly fortitude. 




40 

t''os. Alas! — however others may support 
A prison's dismal loneliness and gloom, 
My heart cannot, but soon must break Avith woe : 
Then stretch thy paternal arm I pray thee, 
O rescue and protect thy wretched son! 
Save him ray father, from the worst of deaths, 
The lingering tortures of a broken heart. 

Boge. O my son ! — thou har,t prob'd thy father's soul. 
Fos. I do conjure thee, in th-j name of Keav'nl 
33y every bond of nature and relio-ion I 
By thy eternal hopes of happiness 
Hereafter! and by the tender bowels 
Of a father, but exert thy influence 
With the Council, to change their stern decree I 
Doge, Is this my son ! — see I the soldier front 
Of Foscari, blur'd with a woman's tears? 
Shall son of mine, recreant to his race, 
So far forget the dignity of man. 
As play the child and whimper at his fate ! 
Fos, Alas! — I feel I even am a child ! 
Yes — weaker than a child — a very babe — 
*Tis not the fear of death, nor is it yet 
The solitary humid cell, which fills 
My soul with terrible dismay, but, 'tis 
The pang of tearing rae f."i;ia tuce, thou dearest. 
Best of fathers! 

Doge. My son, thou 'It make me weak as e'en thyself, 
And wring the tears of anguish from mine eyes! 

Fos. My pangs are too severe to be assuag'd 
By tears: would that my tears could soften them! 
But, feel the damp that 's settled on my brow, 
O! — 'tis the sweat of agony — of death. 
That only feeds upon my soul. 
Doge. Cease, O! Cease — 

Fos. Behold this pallid cheeli — this languid frame. 
View but thy wretched son, and call forth all 
Thy pity — O ! — look not thus upon me ! 
Avert that angry brow — Spare me! spare me! 
What have I done to lose a parent's love? 
Am I thus criminal? — Doth my father 
Thus jud^c — condemn — nay — execute his son! 



*~1 




4^ 

Doge. Thou dost not as becomes Foscari's son — 
Weakness, such as this — will make me spiirn thee. 
" Submit my child unto thy country's laws, 
" Nor ask of me, what 'tis not in my pow'r 
'* To obtain." [Escit in great agilaiion, 

Fos. Then Fortune, hast thou shot away 
Thy most malignant dart! — I may defy 
The deadliest barb, thy quiver doth contain! — 
But now must I resume the man indeed — 
Behold, here my dejected mother comes! 

Enter Lacbj Valeria. 

Good my mother!^ — how fares it with thee? 
Val. My soul is full, even unto b\n'sting — 
Thy mother comes to take her last farewell, 
And to bid thee an adieu forever! 

Foa. Say not forever !— we will meet again ! 

VcL Yes — we will meet again I trust, but not 
This side the grave — but one step lies between 
Thy mother and the tomb, and soon her frame 
Must moulder in the dust. 

Fos. Alas! — my mother! 
Why with such cruel bodings, overwhelm 
A heart, already sinking under grief! 

Val. I come not to afflict thee with my tears,, 
But to beseech thee to support thyself. 
As may become Foscari's noble house. 

Fos. I merit not the priv'lege to call theq. 
Mother! — No — I am unv.orthy of thee; 
An unworthy pillar of thy noble name — 
How often hast thou clasp'd me to thy bosom, 
Prest me with thy maternal tenderness! 
Supported, carried me in those tender arms, 
And would'st thou not then have me weep, when torn, 
Unjustly torn away from such a mother! 

Val. O my son ! — This makes me again a mother.l^i 
Methought that I had lost a parent's feeling, 
Or become callus to its soft control. 

D.2. 




42 






?>*:■■■' 









Enter Officer. 

Officer. Officers are in waiting to conduct thee 
To the ship — a favoring gale already 
Swells our canvass, and straight we are about 
To p\it to sea. 

jFos, But some few moments more, 
And then, I will be ready to depart. 

[Exit Officer, 
Now, one word madam, then I must leave thee. 
Vol. Speak, my son, I will hear thee. 
Fas. Almeria! 
But let me not call her to my remembrance, 
Else ev'ry former resolution 's fled, 
And I am nothing but a child again 1 

Val. Almeria loves thee — and the time may come. 
When yet in her arms, thou rnay'st be happy. 

Fos. O do not pamper me with groundless hopes I — 
Did but the charming maid return my love, 
Banishment — nay death, would lose its horrors. 
But alas! — she hates — she abhors my sight: 
Oi lid she tlius despise me for myself, 
Did she but hate in me the man, — the pangs 
Of losing her forever, would be light! 

Val, Then if Almeria thus abhcr thy sight, 
Such rooted hate, should prove an antidote 
Against the genuine fire of iove: as well 
Might water add new lustre to the blaze, 
As love exist with such determin'd hate. 

Fo^. Alnieria's hate springs, from a noble source : 
So long as she believ'd me free from guilt 
And deem'd me worthy to possess her love, 
I held her bosom sacred to myself. 
But when detraction had defil'd my name, 
'Twas justly then, her love was chang'd to Iiate. 
To thy maternal care then, I bequeath 
Almeria — C) prove to her a mother! 

Val. Yes — for thy sake, I'll keep her in my heart! 
With her, I'll share my love for thee ! 

Fos. But do not let her know, how much I love, 
For could her heart, but once conceive the height 




43 

Of my unbounded adoration of her, 

Her gen'rous soul would mtlt wUh pity for me : — 

Breathe naught into her ear, that can afflict 

Or wound her gentle hearl — for sooner far 

Would I endure forev'r, the ling'ring pangs, 

Which have so long prey'd on my vitals, 

Than cause that lovely breast to heave one sigh. 

(Loud knockijig at the door.) 
Hark, there I my fatal moment has arriv'd I 

Val. O, Heav'n ! it is too much — must we then part? 

Fos. Farewell — my mother — we must part, indeed 1 

Val. Adieu my son ! and may the God of Heav'n 
Once more restore thee to thy mother's arms ; 
Tho' something whispers me, we part forev'r ! 

Fos. Forebode not evil — we will meet ci.e;cun. 

Val. 'Tis death ! O, worse than death, thus to commit 
This outrage 'gainst my nature ! 

£?iter ^NNA, hastily, 

Fos. Where is my father ? 

.inna. Thy father overcome by grief, has swoon'd. 
And much is apprehended for his life. 

Enter Officer. 

Fos. Then let me fly to his assistance ! 

Officer. It is impossible — the vessel waits, 
And, Count, thou must begone. 

Val. Base barbarians ! 
Ye will not refuse my son the privilege 
Once more to see liis father, ere he sails ? 

Officer. Lady, we must — our orders are explieit ; 
We dare not grant the privilege you seek. 

Fos. By Hea^^'n ! 1 will behold my father. (Going.) 

Officer. Count — 
It is impossible — so intreat that thou 
Wovdd follow us this instant to the ship. 

Val. O, madness and distraction ! — Foscari 
Shall not go hence, unless ye tear him from 
My arms. 

Officer. We must this instant be obey'd. 

^ (Laying hold o/FosCARi.) 




'• .mittmmtmmtmmKittmMmiiiiaisatutmf' 

44 

Fos. Unhand me, villain ! 
Officer. Thou must follow us. 
Fos. Standoff! 

Officer. We are the officers of justice. 
I^os. If ye were e'en the officers of hell, 
'Tis thus, thus, and thus, I dare oppose you. 

(Endeavouring to disengage hinisclf.) 
Officer. Dare you so much — this instant force him 
hence ! 

(They overpower FoscARi^and drag him off".) 
Val. Help! help! O, Heav'n, help ! they murder my 
child ! 
( She faints andjallsj jIn^a goes to herassistajice. .Start- 
ing ii/i wildly,) 
What ! have you then rescued him ? — O, speak — speak ! 
Where is my child ? — He's gone ! they'll murder him ! 
E'en now I hear his shrieks ! — O, let me fly 
To his assistance 1 (Going.) 

Enter Doge^ 

Doge. Hold, hold, my belov'd ! 
Collect thyself, my Valeria, my wife ! 

Val. My lord, they have taken him hence — 
I hear his shrieks e'en now ! 

Doge. O, be compos'd ! 

Val. Yes, my lord — I am compos'd — come near me !■ — 
The storm of fate hath surely quite subsided. 
And the false calm of sad despair succeeds. 

( Without.) My lord ! — My lord !— My lord Foscari ! 

( JVithout.) Speak — 
Who calls thus loudly on my lord Foscari ? 

( Without.) My lord Foscari I— Say — is he within ?. 

(Without.) He is here. 

Doge. Who calls bid enter instantly. 

Enter Fisherman, in haste,- 

Fish. My lord, count Erizzo ! 

Doge. What of the Count? 

Fish. He's dying, my lord, and would speak with thee.. 

Doge.. Pray, why would Qount Erizzo speak with me.?. 




45 

/'V.sA. He spake of your son, and of a secret, 
And of count Donate, and of yourself, 
And of many things, I did not understand. 
And seem'd my lord, in haste to speak with thee. 

Dcge, Spake lie of count Donato ? — where is he ? 

i'Vs/i. Hard by our little hut, not far from this — 
Poor gentleman, he was beset by thieves, 
And I fear he has receiv'd his death wouiid ! 
He seem'd distrcss'd, lest ere thou coukl'st arrive, 
He should expire. 

Fa/. Then, fly to him, my lord ! 

! instantly fly, lest it be too late ! 

Doge. The dreadful secret stands expos'd to view ! — 

1 go this instant. — Then lead thou the way. 

\_Exeuni Doce^ FisHEitMANand Sesi^ants, 

{J f:ame.) 

Val. 0,Keav'n! how are my feelings harrow'd up ! 
Truly this life's a scene of dread alarm ; 
And to the fickle ocean, bearsajust 
Resemblance ! — The calm that sometimes lulls us 
To repose, but makes the tumbling-billows. 
Roar more dreadful, when the rude blasts are out, 
And scowering the bosom of the main. — 
Too long have I repos'd in ease and quiet ; 
Too long have I slept upon this tranquil sea, 
Unconscious of the brewing of that stcrm. 
Which now so loudly threatens to o'efwhelm me. 

Enter Almeria^ drcst fantastically^ her hair Jlowir.g in 
wild disorder. 

My sweet Almeria, how fares it with thee ? 

Mn. Good my lady, this is a day of mirth, 
Of great rejoicing, throughout all Venice : 
I am glad to day, my heart has holiday ; 
O, I could dance for joy ! — But do you know 
The cause of all this mirth ? Young Foscari, 
They say is to be married — O, no ! he's dead I — 
Dead ? 'tis impossible I — No, no — not dead, 
'Tis only five years since I saw him last, 
So 'tis impossible he can be dead ! 



J>^ 




iiiw « Mn in i mmKmmHmMMK 



HMi':. 



^ 



46 

Fa/. Sweet Almeria, tell me the cause of this ? 

j^lm. Ha ! — I see you're making preparations 
For the wedding — look — I've adorn'd myself, 
Altiio' some told me 'twas a funeral. — 

Fa/. Lovely Almeria '. — thou wilt distract me ! 

yl/;n. Now, pray tell me — how do vou like this hood ? 
Say — doth it well become a youthful bride ? — 
How gay you all appear ! — They told me this, 
To laugh at me ! — Ah ! poor, poor Almeria ! 
She has no one now to love her ! — No 1 — No !— 
But no matter — I will dance and be happy — 
Shall I dance for you lady ? — Nay — don't frown ! 
No — I'll sing a funeral dirge — because 
Foscari is dead i — No one loves me now ! 

Fa/. I love thee, sweet maid — most dearly love thee ; 
Come, O, come my beloved to my arms ! 

.///??. Throw away that corps, th.en I will come to thee : 
How can you hug that lifeless body so ? 
See ! it is putrid— but it is Foscari's, 
So I too, will clasp it to my bosom. 
CShc; ru>J:es in'o Faleria's arms, then suddenly bursts into 

a convulsive fu of laughter.) 
But I have no cause to laugh — he's dead ! 
I have cause to weep, for v/hen he implor'd me 
On his knees to hear him, v/hy I did laugh.— 
How merry you all appear, while I am sad !— 
Rejoice with mcj lady — I am going to marry. 
1 have n't seen my intended husband yet, 
'Tho I shall not take a griui lord to my arms. 
— I shudder at the thought — for his touch they say 
Is very cold — 'twill chill my blood v/ich horror ! 
But see — even the doge himself is merry ; 
Merry, because his son's about to wed. 
So I'll go deck his nuptial bed with flowers. [Exh, 

Enter Doge^ hastUy. 

Dvge. Rejoice, rejoice Valeria—for our son 
Is innocent — now is the veil of mystery 
Withdrawn, and the dark secret stands disclos'd. 

Fa/, O5 transporting news ! 



'■•Wi^.i-^-.MXiH; ;<;, 



h -1m. :^ ' c>;fr ..Vi -Hk^UK. :Laa 




47 

Dos^e. Then hear the dreadful tale ; 
But first let servants be dispatch'd to stay 
The departure of the vessel. 

Fa/. O, fly \_Exit SERVANf^ 171 haste. 

Now my lord, I pray unfold the mysteries ; 
And tvive a mother's aking soul relief. 

Doge. Streach'd on some straw, beneath the fisher's 
hut, 
Besmear'd with blood and dust, Erizzolay : 
His glarini^ eyc-balls, seem'd as tiio' tliev 'd start 
From out their sockets — he I'r j-a' me near him — 
He writh'd in agony and tried to speak : 
At length, liis voice, which soem'd quite choak'd with 

blood, 
Found utterance— he cried to Heav'n for mercy, 
AikI be^'d all present, that they'd pray for him. 
Su«ldcnly he seiz'd my wrist, and held it 
In the clammy grasp of death. P'orgive me, 
He cried, for 1 have injur'd thee. " Thy son 
" Is innocent, as e'en the babe unborn I — " 
O'ercorne by the loss of blood, he fainted, 
And with difficulty, we vestor'd rim. 

Val. But did he not make known the villain's name 
Who murder'd count Donato ? 

Doge. He thus went on : 
" Behoid in m" the wretch, who caus'd the death 
" Of count Donato. One Policarpo, 
" A meie creature of my own, was the fiend 
" Employ 'd by me to do this horrid deed." 
He'd scarcely time to utter these last words. 
When he was seiz'd with horrible convulsions. 
And in most cheadful agonies, expir'd. 

Vul. AUis 1 alas ! poor miserable vi retch ' 
But what of I'olicarpo, whom thou namedst ? 

Doge. His fate will sure be such as it deserves : 
Him anii liisbasc accomphcc Gomez, nam'd, 
I saw both drag'd to prison by t.ae crowd. ' 
'Val. Then Heav'n be prais'd '—At length our troubles 
cease: 
We've only now, by kindness lo restore 
This lovely maid to reason — then — 



II ml I II II II ^m 



J^. 




IMMMIMI 



48 



Enter Almebia. 

Doge. Almeria, 
It was in attempting- thy destruction, 
That Count Erizzo met with his reward. 

Abn. How do you like this furhelow, my Lord ? 
Win it £!,Tace Ahneria for the wedding? 
The ])all-bearers are bespoke already ! 

Doge. Merciful Heav'n! — she is distracted! 
Come rny lov'd child to thy dear father's arms, 
And let liim sooth thee with his caresses. 



Enter Officer in great haste. 

Officer. My Lord, my Lord, how shall I tell the news? 

Doge. The ship has sail'd perhaps — why alarm us? 

Offi. O no my Lord — far worse — far worse, indeed! 

Doge. Then proclaim the worst, that I may bear it. 

Offi. My gracious I^ord, — Your son is dead 1 

Val. O merciful Heav'n! 

( Throivs herself into a chair in speechless agojiij,) 

Offi. The pain of parting- with you was too much, 
The fatal moment was too big with v/oe, 
And, e're he reach'd the ship, he brcath'd his last. 

fDogeJlxes his eyes in mute horror upon the Jloor.) 

Aim. Dead ! dead ! — say, did you not say he was dead ?— 
Then is Almeria lost — she 's lost forever! 
Beloved lady, let me comfort thee: 
But no, no,— I need comfort for myself— 
I will go weave a shroud for Foscari. — 
Now I may weep forever I — I am not mad. 
Who dar'd say, I was distracted — Dead! dead! 
Let these streaming locks veil me from those eyes. 
Turn tliem not so pitiously upon me ! — 
Foscari! — thy lips are cold — let me feel — 
Merciful Heav'n! cold — cold — and pale in death! 
But why look so sad my Lord ? — Thy son is marri'd. 
Hark! hark! I — The death-bell tolls! — i go — 1 go 
To meet my Foscari, who calls me hence. 

\_Exit in iviid disorder* 




49 

Doge. It is done 1 — the die is casr, 
My fate is now, decisively determin'd 1 
Then let the whirlwind of calaraity 
Rage on, let all the complicated ills 
Of life, join in the blast, to overwhelm 
Me with despair: — I can defy them all, 
For now I know the honor of my boy, 
Stands fair and unpolluted. 1 hanks to Heav'n, 
That I 've liv'd to see this happy day I 
1 shalldefy the pangs of death, and laugh 
At ev'ry shaft that envy hath discharg'd 
Against me — But let me go seek my son, 
Let me haste to bedew his corse with tears, 
And embalm him with a father's blessings. 
But my Valeria, my beloved wife, 
Awake, aAvake from this thy lethargy. 

Val. O would to Heav'n, I could never wake 
Again! 'tis loo much my Lord — Distraction 
Hath twin'd itself about my very soul. 
Where, O where, shall I pour out all my grief, 
Wheix' vent my agony of woe 1 

JDcgc, Vent it herel 
Here within the bosom of thy husband I 

He, he, can bear it all ! 

Gracious Heav'n I — what am I still to endure I — 
Here — bring in my boy — give him to my arms. 

f The dead body of Foscari is brought m on a bier. J 
And though his limbs be cold ajid crampl ir. death, 
Still let me clasp him to my bosom. 

Fal. My son ! 

( Throiving herself oil the dead body.) 
O my son, my son I look on thy parent ! 
But cast thine eyes on thy distracted mother, 
And calm the agonies that rend her soul ! 
O speak I — speak to her my son I — Thv mother, 

It is thy mother who implores thee speak I 

But no! Thy lips are cold and clos'd in death forever, 
And I shall never hear thy cheering voice a^-ain ! 




50 



Enter jitXERiA ivfldly. 

Mm. My heated brain can no where find relief, 
Despair is all that poor Almcria seeks, » 

Despair, despair, distraction and the grave! 

{^dLidERiji^ discovenng the dead body^ shrieks,, and fainting^ 
is about to sink u/ion the bier, ivhen the Doge supports her 
ttver the dead body of his son. The curtain gradually falli 
fo solemn music. J 



fINlS. 




EPILOGUE. 



er MR. CARPENTER. 



SPOKEN DY MRS. WHITLOCK» 

Mrs. WmriocK comes forward^ on tijitoe^ looking carefully 
about, as if fearful of being observed by the filaijers, 

flusH ! — Let me look round me ere I speak, 
(And speak I must, or else my heart will break,) 
For were I heard by these same fustian factors, 
A\' horn fortune's errors, or their own make actors ; 
Blabbing my thoughts, I'm not without my fears> 
That I should get it on both sides my ears. 

Looks about again to the vjings. 
Ay — They're all gone 1 see — Then entrenous, 
About our trade, I'll hint a word or two ; 
And as our sex is privileg'd to say, 
What e'er occurs — I'll speak about the play. 

'Mongst us, in one short evening, you may scan, 
The long- and comprehensive life of man. 
Like man, we oftimcs wear a face of woe, 
While joys tumultuous in our bosoms glow ; 
Like man we laugh, as if with mirth halfmad> 
While all within, is sorrowful and sad. 
As with dissembled grief, the new flcdg'd heir, 
Shrouded in black, affects to drop a tear ; 
So with fond thoughts, a Zfcr or Kolla dies. 
While his sly sweetheart, waits for him to rise» 
And many uFalstaJf, chuckles through his part, 
W hile festering sorrows i ankle at his heart. 
As jerry 'd husbands^ wishing for relief 
Affect to laugh, while whimpering with grief. 



52 

Tonight, youVe heard us Oh ! and Ah ! and moan. 

Blubber, wipe eyes, and sob and sigh, and groan ; 

And whose sobs, sighs or groans were louder than my own 

Yet shall I say it — Nay, in faith 'twill out — 

While I was making all this tragic rout, 

About these children of our poet's brain, 

The Doge, Foscari, and the ladies twain, 

I felt my heart for joy within me bound, 

To see this goodly groupe collected round. 

To make our bard with honest transport glovvj 

While he melts you with sympathetic woe. 

A truce with tears then — and with me rejoice ; 
Hear reason's dictates, urg'd in nature's voice! 
Be wise and merry — and this truth believe 
If grief were wisdom, very few would grieve.—. 
Rejoice with me, to see brought forth to light. 
The firstborn ofour tragic muse, this night. 
Applaud the youth — Applaud with heart and hand, 
Who makes this offering to his native land^ 



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